


if you're never sorry then you can't be forgiven

by chii



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Polydins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8059918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: Ten years later the connection to the lions is stronger than ever. It's not entirely a good thing.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> OK SO FIRST OFF: this isn't the happiest of fics. 
> 
> 2: This is tagged polydins and with various pairings for a reason, but I just want to note why. It's implied that ten years later when they're all older, they're all together in some capacity. Whether you choose to take that as "hey we're knee deep in each other's minds so we're way more physically affectionate" or "THEY BONIN', OHHHH!" is up to you. TBH I wrote it kind of genish with a focus on Shiro/Keith + Lance, but other bits snuck in there. 
> 
> 3: Nothing happens while the paladins are young, and again I'd still say this is more Shiro/Keith than anything else. 
> 
> 4: NOW WITH FANART AT THE BOTTOM SINCE IT'S SPOILERY AS HELL.

I.

Bless Hunk for his keen eye for good food.

Alien farmers market hadn’t ever been a set of words that he thought would exist, yet here they were, peering over a set of fruit that was fluorescent pink and yellow and purple, supposedly not poisonous to humans. The little device that Pidge had rigged up to be able to test the contents of fresh fruits, vegetables and even meat was the most useful thing they had lately, because it meant no longer just eating the food goo from the ship.

“So, what, like, thirty of these?” Lance says, hefting up one of the purple fruits, almost the size of a bowling ball. He sniffed it; it didn’t really smell like anything familiar but it didn’t smell  _bad_. A little sweet, maybe.

“Sure, if you want to carry thirty of these back to the lions.” Hunk grabs two, settling them in the bag, passing over a few credit chips to the vendor and gets a soft trill in response. “Hey, grab a few of those...yellow things, too.”

Obediently, Lance puts a few into the bag after looking them over. He supposes fruit is fruit, you just make sure it’s not bruised and it’s probably good. A few more chips are passed over and then they start off to another stall, where a variety of animals are stuck in cages, but also strung up, legs and ribs and various other parts. It looks sort of like a butcher’s market save for the fact that nothing Lance had ever seen at the butcher had eight legs and wicked sharp claws at the end. They use the device to test out what’s safe for consumption and what’s not, purchase what they need and move on.

On the way, they run into Pidge, their hands on their hips, furiously haggling over some random -- Lance doesn’t know what the hell they are, some sort of doodads that they want for whatever thing they’re building right now. For being five foot nothing, Pidge is an awfully commanding presence and the alien they’re haggling with doesn’t seem to know what hit them.

“Come on, keep moving, let Pidge handle whatever the hell they’re doing,” Lance says, shooing Hunk onward and further down into the mass of shops on the street. They make a few more stops before determining that if they have to carry any other bags, it’s going to be a risk of dropping them. He can, of course, carry as many bags as Hunk and insists that he tries, but Hunk just pats him on the head and tells him that they have enough and if they buy any more, it’s going to go bad because they don’t have enough people to eat all of it.

“Sure, yeah,” Lance says and maybe his smile has too many teeth and maybe he grabs the bags they’re holding a little too tightly.

The trip back to the castle is uneventful, Lance quickly put to work in the kitchen with Hunk while they usher out everyone else who tries to come in and figure out just what they’re doing. “You’d think after ten years of this goo, we’d be used to it,” Lance mutters, grimacing at the container that holds the goo as he slides a knife over the cutting board and dumps the fruit into it, watching it plop wetly into the mess of green. It looks disgusting, but he also knows that once they blend it, it basically tastes like a smoothie and the consistency isn’t too far off. “Still grosses me the hell out when I look at it, though.”

“Ugh,” Hunk agrees emphatically, eyeing a slab of meat on his own cutting board, looking like he’s not sure just what he wants to do with it. It doesn’t have eight legs, thank _God_ , but it sure as hell has way too many ribs for anything that Lance ever saw on earth. “If you go into the pantry I think we might have something in there that we can use to make a rub.”

“Okay, sure, but can you maybe be more specific because there’s a lot of stuff in here and I’m relatively certain that some of this is like, motor oil for the lions.” He wanders over to it, picking his way through the packaged spices they’ve picked up from various planets. They’re all painstakingly labeled with tape and various descriptions like “kind of sort of coriander???” “Probably cinnamon.” “IDK Basi-lish.” “SPICY DO NOT USE MORE THAN 1TSP SPICY SPICY!! WARNING!!”

Unsurprisingly after the last one, Lance was banned from further labeling, which is like, ridiculously unfair because out of any of the paladins besides maybe Shiro, he had the highest tolerance to spice. More than once he had convinced Shiro to get into a contest with him over who could eat the spiciest thing, and it was usually an even ratio of wins and losses. He grabs a few things that they’ve used in the past and brings them over and then is promptly ushered out of the kitchen so that Hunk can work.

He steals a couple slices of fruit from one of the cutting boards and plops them on a plate to go eat later, making his way down the halls and into the hangar. Hunk, unsurprisingly, watches him go but doesn’t stop him, letting him make his way down to the hangar without much fuss but with this look that he always gets, like he _understands_ and Lance hates it, just a little bit.

Green isn’t back yet, which means Pidge is probably still haggling that poor shop owner to _death_ , and Red isn’t back yet, either, which isn’t surprising given the massive shopping list that they had gone to the market with. Blue and Black are there, though, so Lance hops over one of the thick lengths of cord that is strung from one end of the room to Black and comes over to sit with them. He could drag a chair over from the console but it’s just as easy to settle the plate of fruit onto Blue’s paw and climb up onto her, stretching out so he’s got his back pressed against one of her legs and his feet resting on one of Black’s paws.

Opening up his mind to the mental connection used to be the hardest thing in the world but now it’s as easy as opening a door. He does it and then kicks back to start peeling the leathery skin off of one of the pieces of fruit.

“I thought I’d kind of get used to going to weird places after all these years, but every time we go to the alien space farmer’s market, it’s still weird. There’s like, this one booth that has--” Lance pops the piece of fruit into his mouth and then stretches his arm out wide, trying to gesture and indicate how big the rack of ribs was. He chews, swallows and then starts speaking again, feeling Blue’s amusement roll through him as he nearly chokes in his hurry. Black isn’t nearly as impressed; it isn’t as if they can stop him from choking given they lack _hands_.  “I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t get your tails in a wad. The hugest ribs ever. You shoulda seen it, Hunk had to carry the thing all wrapped up and it was basically as long as one of my legs. You could smack it against someone and it would knock them down.”

Another piece of fruit and Lance is quiet for a while, just letting Black and Blue prowl through his mind, picking through memories here and there. There were still unfamiliar pieces to some of the lions because despite being joined to the humans for years, it wasn’t until recently that most of them had effectively remembered themselves. Being asleep for ten thousand years and then waking up to paladins who didn’t know the ins and outs of how to work with them meant that it was fairly slow going for the longest time. Shiro’d been the one who understood how to bond with the lions the fastest, but it had been actual work for the rest of them, trying to learn how to manage the complex emotional and mental bonds. Lance had been the one to take to the mental connection the best, able to press images back and forth between most of the other lions, and when he concentrated on the bond between the paladins, do much the same. Non-verbal communication was terribly useful when fighting.

He brings up the mental image of ribs from back home - going to the store, what size they generally were. Block BBQ parties during the summer, the feel of the sun on his shoulders, the mess that ribs inevitably made and the sticky-sweet taste when he licked his fingers clean. “We should do that, next trip back to Earth.”

The plate of fruit is finished off and Lance stretches out further. It’s not the most comfortable position but between the two of them supporting him, it works well enough. “It’s been too long and it’d be good to get back home for a little while. Did I tell you _mi hermanita_ is getting married? It’s not soon, sometime next year but they invited all of us to come. _Married_ , though. I mean, he’s nice enough from what I’ve heard and he’s going into med school so mama is thrilled. It also means that we’re gonna have to get like, actual formal wear? Not the stuff we wore back on Revas, with all the gauze and stuff, but like. Suits.”

Which means fittings and dealing with Keith being grumpy the whole damn time because he hates being poked and prodded at. It’s also a slight nightmare because while the Garrison and the rest of the world is aware of the presence of both aliens and the paladins, literally every time they have to go back is a mess of bureaucracy and approvals and declarations and honestly, Lance is glad that he’s not the one in charge here and it all falls to someone else, because he’s not going to touch that with a ten foot pole if he can help it.

“D’you think color coding the suits is too much? I mean, really the only colors that’d look weird are yellow and green, and I don’t even know if Pidge is planning on a suit or a dress or what. They said they’d figure it out later, so,” Lance shrugs both shoulders and presses a hand to Blue when she leans down to nuzzle at him, cool metal warming faintly against him when his hand makes contact. Black shifts his head down and rests it on his paws, careful not to accidentally crush Lance’s legs where he’s lying, which, thanks, dude.

He brings up the mental image of suits - himself in a blue one, so they can ‘see’ it, which is a whole other weird thing. The mental connection between the lions is as secure as it’s ever going to be all these years later but it’s still weird to think about. Allura says that they’ve bonded just as well if not better than the the last paladins, especially given the circumstances they’ve had to deal with. It both makes it understandable how well they’ve bonded, but also easier, in some ways. “Maybe we just wear colored ties or something, I could find a blue and red tie, easy. _Corsages_ , like we’re going to prom.”

The lions don’t have to breathe, of course, but they’ve taken up some of the more human - or at least, non-lion mannerisms that the others have. Black lifts his head and huffs air, as close to a chuffing laugh as it can get, mostly recycled from the vents, body-heat warm.

“Man, I’m kind of bummed now, I dunno how I never thought about it, but each graduating class gets a dance at the end of their term, you know, before they go off and start training to be an officer or like, leave do whatever else. We missed ours.” Not that it was probably that big of a deal, but still, he thinks he would have kind of wanted to go, years ago. Maybe not so much now; God knew they were way too old for it. There had been a mission - the one on Revas, where they’d had to dress up. It wasn’t their type of formal wear, but the type of formal wear that was customary on the planet they were on.

Keith had, unsurprisingly, hated it. Shiro had very delicately asked if there were anything that he could wear that covered a little more, which, nope. That had been hilarious all on its own. He lets his mind wander for a little while, the lions sliding through his mind like actual lions prowling through tall grass. It’s not threatening, though; it’s comforting, more than anything else. Every so often he reaches a hand up to touch one of them, letting himself doze off, eventually, the plate settled off to the side.

He wakes groggily to the press of a hand against his shoulder, too big to be Pidge’s and too gentle to be Keith’s. “Mmmmup, Shiro, s’fine,” Lance mumbles and then blinks a few times. “Oh-- sorry.”

Hunk smiles and wraps a hand around his forearm, helping him down from where he’s been sprawled out on the two lions and curls an arm around his shoulders. “It’s fine. Keith’s back and so is Pidge, so Allura wanted me to grab you for a quick meeting before dinner.”

Yawning so hugely his jaw cracks, Lance pats both lions gently on the nose and then does the same to the rest of them, giving Red and extra pat just because her ears go flat and flick in response, tail lashing.

“See you guys later,” he calls over his shoulder, Hunk’s arm solid around his shoulders, stepping over the cords carefully on their way out.  


* * *

 

II

 

Unsurprisingly, the ribs are a huge success. No one really knows what the meat is or what animal it came from, but it tastes sort of like pork, the rub is good and the sauce that he manages to make is a hit. The other paladins shoo him away from doing the dishes because he cooked - Lance tries to protest that he _helped_  so he shouldn’t have to do them, but it only gets him drying duty, instead.

The leftovers are piled up and put into their containers, though a few bites of each thing are tucked onto a plate and given to Hunk as he makes his way to the hangar, a cup of what is passably hot cocoa in one hand, and the plate in the other. Whoever had piloted Yellow before him didn’t have much of a love for food; most of the prior paladins seemed to be more focused on everything else - which made sense, given how much older they were than the current ones, and what they had to deal with.

Ever since they ironed out the connection between the lions and the paladins - something only managed in full in the last year - when Hunk has time, he brings whatever they ate to the hangar and links up with Yellow so he can share it. The others do sometimes, he knows, but none of them have the same level of appreciation for food like Hunk does. Out of all of the lions, it’s Black and Yellow that enjoy this the most, though the rest of them soak in the sense imagery and tastes as best as they can, openly curious about it.

“Alright, so!” The plate is laid out and Hunk reaches out to Yellow, feeling her curl around him like an almost physical presence. The others are there too, of course, Black and Blue ambling over curiously, but Red stays where she is and Green is off with Pidge, working on one thing or another. The connection’s strong enough that they’ll get bits of the input, even from this far away. “We have, hot chocolate with cinnamon and whipped cream.”

Black tilts his head down and eyes it and Hunk can _see_ how dubious he is, especially when Yellow brings up the mental image of what whipped cream is supposed to look like. That is, not a weird yellowish-green and probably too thick for actual whipped cream. “Hey, you want to try making whipped cream from alien ingredients, be my guest,” Hunk sniffs, and settles that off to the side, bracing his back against one of Yellow’s massive legs, stretching his own out on the ground. The plate of food is settled on his lap and he grabs napkins from his vest pouch, pointing at each thing individually. “So, ribs, with a honey-barbecue sauce and also a few with dry rub. Lance mentioned he was eating some of the fruit earlier, so I didn’t bring any of those, but we do have a sort of strawberry smoothie, some veggies and--”

He pulls something out of one of his pouches, holding it up victoriously. It’s been too long since they were last on Earth, but he keeps a cache of various items that won’t go bad until they restock next time. It’s good for trading, especially on a lot of the planets that are too far out to get in on the trade lines between Earth and the closer ones. It’s been ages since Hunk has had a good candybar but he settles it to the side to eat last, picking his way through the meal.  


“The vegetables were pretty easy. They’re not like the ones we have on Earth, but with the pans that Lance’s mom gave us and the stove that Pidge rigged up last year we were able to make it work. Normally I’d put goat cheese and a balsamic vinegar reduction on top, but we ran out of that so we’ll need to grab it on another supply run. But these turned out alright. I want to try grilling them, next planet we hit.” He pops one of the panfried vegetables into his mouth and it crunches, but is still juicy. It doesn’t taste anything like vegetables from Earth, but it’s still good, seasoned just right. “Allura was talking about going back to Earth anyway, wants to get all sorts of cook books from Earth so we can trade them with some of the other planets in the Alliance. There are plenty of planets that drink milk, even if it’s not, y’know, from a cow. They could make cheese out of it, maybe, so we were going to see if that was something we could do.”

He’s slow when he eats - it’s going to get cold, sure and it’s not as _good_  cold and a thousand different cooking shows would point out that you lose something in the flavor, but he doesn’t really care. The vegetables are finished and then the meat, Hunk taking slow sips of the smoothie in between when he needs a drink. When he finally finishes and wipes his hands clean, he undoes the wrapper to the Twix bar and snaps a tiny piece off.

There’s an art to this part of it- new foods that they haven’t tried before, especially desserts. A Twix bar isn’t exactly a super complicated set of flavors like some of the meals he’s made, but it’s still one to savor. He sets the piece on his tongue and lets it melt, chocolate and then caramel and only crunches into it when he absolutely has to, humming quietly.

“If making chocolate wasn’t so complicated, I’d try it here, but having cream and everything else means that it might go bad before I actually have time to make it.” Another bite and a pause while he lets it melt. “Plus I’d have to ban Lance from the kitchen. He and Pidge nearly ate all of the chocolate chips when I was going to make cookies, last week.”

He wraps the other candy bar back up, not wanting to eat both of them tonight when he probably needs to make them last. There’s still work to be done; Pidge wants him to go over the latest readouts from the cryotube and while he’s not really looking forward to it, it also needs to be done. “Sorry I couldn’t bring anything too spicy, buddy, but hopefully this wasn’t too bad.”

Both lions help him ease down and he gathers up all the trash, napkins and plate and all and he turns to wave at them.  There’s something good about savoring moments like this, about enjoying it slowly with them and knowing that while they can’t fix everything that’s wrong in the world, they can have these moments. They’re allowed that.

 

* * *

III  
  


It’s 0400 when Pidge walks into the hangar, computer in one hand, drink in the other. Green activates in an instant, paws sliding forward over the ground, back arching, stretching with a soft creak of metal. She’s just large enough that she can curl neatly around the little computer console that Pidge has set up during when they want to work, her back paws and front paws curling around like a half-moon while the wires feed out in the opposite direction so that she doesn’t lie on them.

The other lions activate briefly, flickers of yellow in the dim light of the hangar but Pidge waves them off, unconcerned. Blue’s the most curious out of all of them, save for Green and she heads over, settling neatly behind Green so she can rest her head on top of what’s effectively her belly, giving her room to view whatever Pidge does on their screen.

There’s another noise - louder, as Black activates too and settles directly in front of them, sprawling out effortlessly despite his size. The tips of his paws just barely brush where Pidge has their feet out and they laugh quietly, nudging against massive paws. “Alright, so. Not much changed since last time, unfortunately. I didn’t get all of the pieces that I needed from Sigilus Prime because the guy running it was _stingy_. I don’t even know why he’s selling that junk for as much as he was, but it’s a rip-off, especially because I’d _also_  have to buy a special adapter to make it work because it’s partially broken. And  _then_ I’d have to resolder the wires and hope that it actually works.”

Green makes a low, warm noise like a mechanical bellows that’s what passes for a laugh as a lion and Pidge reclines back further against them, sighing.

“Basically, what we’re working on right now is making sure that what happened with Sendak and the crystal doesn’t happen again. We don’t _think_  it’s possible to corrupt the pod or the crystal, not with the safeguards in place, but we’re also being really careful. It’s one thing to transfer someone’s memories into a crystal and it’s something else entirely to try and transfer that into something organic.”

They’re still going to try, though. They’ve talked to Keith about it, briefly, in hushed voices after meetings, or late at night when neither of them are able to sleep. Sometimes Keith will come to their room and listen to them just talk about what the next step in the project is until he falls asleep and sometimes Pidge comes into his room and picks his mind until they have something new to try.

Once upon a time, they remember being softer. They didn’t have to make difficult decisions about who would live, who would die. They didn’t have to worry about saving their friends or the world, or the universe for that matter. Now, they have politics to dance around, and a certain behavior that’s expected of them both as paladins and as members of the alliance.

( _They don’t get that it’s war_ , Keith grits out one night, hands curled into fists until Pidge punches his arm lightly to remind him to unclench and let them _fix this_. He relaxes, only barely and lets them start smearing the gel over the bruised and bloodied knuckles, wrapping them in gauze, careful to keep the line of it underneath his gloves so no one else will notice. The gloves are a little thicker looking, but you can’t tell that he bloodied and bruised his hands this way. _We don’t have to do what they do, but we can’t just pretend like the noble thing is the right one.)_

He’s right about that. Killing Zarkon wasn’t an option right now, but keeping him in a prison cell for the rest of his life was too dangerous, especially with the Druids and the sheer size of the Galra empire. They’ve chiseled away at it for years, sure, but ten thousand years is a long time to build something.

Allura might not like it, but if she can figure out a secure way to do the same thing to Zarkon as they did to Sendak, just -- without the issues of before, they can present it as an option. He can’t corrupt anything if he’s locked down and has no access to anything else.

Gently, Black noses against their foot, his low, rumbling purr feeling as if it shakes the floor. Pidge’s head jerks up and they stare at him, clenching their computer so tightly it creaks. “Don’t-- _Don't_. We can’t just let him go. I know the Alliance keeps talking about him being locked down, but it’s not that _easy_! He’s too dangerous. We use him to find out what he did with Matt and dad and where they are, and then--”

God, they hate crying. Crying is the worst and tears get on their glasses and they lost their stupid glasses cloth so using a shirt is the next best thing but they could _scratch_  and--

Green curls closer around them, her purr softer, a little higher than Black’s and soon enough Blue’s joins it, pressing comfort at Pidge through the mental link. Angrily they swipe at their cheeks and look up at the ceiling until their eyes stop burning and they can look at the screen without it being blurry.

“Everyone keeps saying that this is a war. Then we need to start treating it like it’s a war. I’m not-- I’m not saying we become what the Galra are, but we need to figure out _something_.” None of the lions argue that, but it’s amazing how a face that’s metal and doesn’t really have an expression can so easily display _disappointment_. Pidge grits their teeth and stares down at the computer rather than look at that and keeps on working, fingers flying across the keyboard. “I’ve gotta do _something._ ”

They don’t argue it, but the fact that all of the lions come as close as is feasible with their size and the space Pidge is working with says enough on its own. Keith knows what needs to be done, and so does Pidge. If the good plan doesn’t work, then, well, they need to be prepared to do something else.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have me in your hands, Black Paladin, and yet you hesitate.” 
> 
> So Keith stops hesitating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s......orry............. ALSO HOLY HELL I HATE HTML hopefully this doesn't have the stupid things

IV

Being tied to the lions is both a blessing and a curse, these days. Now that the paladins have managed to join with them as tightly as the paladins before them, Allura’s all the more aware of everyone, in a way that’s sometimes overwhelming. The first few months of bonding had resulted in multiple attempts where she had to put up her own walls because there were just some things that didn’t need transmitted over those links. The paladins couldn’t help it, of course - strong emotions had a way of bleeding through but she also wanted them to maintain some semblance of privacy where there often was none.

The lions themselves still have room to go; after all of them being asleep and dormant for so long, it’s hard to get back to the way things used to be. She knows that there’s still issues communicating; they do well enough with pictures and memories and transferring thoughts back and forth, but it’s not quite as seamless as it used to be with the older paladins. She helps where she can, but it’s difficult for even her to manage when she had never really trained with this, she’d only heard what her father used to talk about, while he was a paladin. It’s difficult to give instructions and training on how to do something when she’s not even certain of how to do it herself.

Still, she tries. That’s all she can do, that’s all she can ask of the others when faced with doing something they aren’t fully certain of how to do. They try.

Before the paladins wake for breakfast, she makes her way down to the hangar and checks in with them. There’s nothing much from Yellow, Green, and Red, but they curl through her mind like the over-large cats they’re named for, nuzzling both mentally and physically, cool metal brushing against her hand when she touches them.

Blue makes a soft, metallic noise in response and she sighs quietly, stroking her hand over her flank, soothing her as best as she can. “I know. Running both the castle and attempting to assist with this isn’t ideal. Lance said he came to see you, though, while Red was out.” There’s an affirmative response in her mind, Blue vaguely placated when she’s reminded of that, but Allura knows that she doesn’t come down to visit the lions half as often as she probably should, but she does come as often as she’s able.

Black is the only one fully out of sleep mode and he waits his turn patiently, sitting in a resting position with his tail curled around his paws. When she comes close enough, he leans down, the purr echoing throughout the entire hangar, so loud she feels it in her bones. “It wouldn’t hurt you to go into rest mode, you know,” Allura points out mildly and presses both of her hands to his nose, her cheek resting on top of the massive muzzle for a moment. The feel of the other lions slowly waking is a lovely feeling, all languid, lazy energy and contentment as they rise and greet her.

It doesn’t take long to renew the ties between herself and the lions, maybe a few ticks for each one. They mill around her like their namesakes once they’re awake, Red biting at Blue when she bumps into her and batting at Black’s tail when he comes too close. One of Black’s massive paws comes down, presses against Red’s head and pushes her back while Allura laughs quietly, caught between thousand ton metal creatures and not worried in the slightest.

“Whoa, easy, Sheena, Queen of the Jungle.”

Both Blue and Red’s heads raise abruptly and then it’s a race against each other to get to him first. His laughter rings out through the hangar and he makes sure to pay attention to both of them, walking back over to her with one hand on Blue and the other on Red.

“Pidge explained to me who she is,” Allura says dryly and Lance doesn’t look bothered in the slightest, batting his eyelashes at her. He’s still in his pajamas, scruff on his chin, hair flat on one side. “I don’t believe it’s entirely accurate.”

“Yeah, more like queen of the lions, but hey, I work with what I got.” He summons his bayard and goes over to one of the work tables, Red and Blue following him at a distance, play-rough housing as they follow him over to the table. The rifle doesn’t need maintenance as often like a normal one does, but he’s hyper-aware of the need to keep it in good, working condition. Allura knows that it was one of the things that Shiro had instilled in him as soon as he was able to shift the bayard to that form. “How are the kitties doing?”

Red’s tail knocks into the table firmly enough that it shakes and Lance’s head lifts, pointing at his eyes and then at Red’s and Allura gets echoes of a clear _hey, knock that off_ directed at Red. “They’re well. It’s been calm enough that we’ve been able to work on the newer bonds lately.”

Yellow, apparently bored with the conversation turn, heads back to their position in the hangar and sprawls out, while Green prowls over to see what Lance is doing after a gentle headbutt to Allura as she passes. Black is the only one that lingers; he’s large enough that he can see what Lance is up to from where he sits and still stays close to Allura. He’s far too large to rest his chin on her shoulder, but he lets her settle between his front legs and braces himself over her, his massive shadow swallowing her up. She can place both of her hands on his paws like this while Lance keeps the other lions entertained and when she closes her eyes, reaches out to the bond with Black.She can almost feel the line of a body behind her, a chin on her shoulder.

“Hello,” she murmurs quietly and smiles.

 

* * *

 

V

Once upon a time, the hangar used to be consistently busy. There were always people going this way and that, working on whatever needed repaired or tended to, whether it was the lions, the ships housed in the hangar. The castle used to be populated to the brim with workers and people living there, Alteans who had tasks to do.

Now, it’s empty unless the Paladins are there prepping for a mission, or if someone is working. Usually, it’s Pidge, hunched over their computer, wires hooked up to a million different things. Coran can’t tell what they’re working on more often than not, because while the translators will work on spoken word, they’re not so good with English, and certainly not with whatever primitive language they’re using to code. It works, so he’s not overly bothered by it and mostly lets them alone to do as they wish.

With the Paladins out doing tasks for Allura- some on a supply run in Yellow and the rest on a diplomatic mission, it’s just Coran alone in the castle with the lions. It’s far too quiet but ever since Pidge managed to get the speakers wired up from whatever parts they’d salvaged from various parts of ships and made it compatible with the players that Alteans used, he’s able to play music through the hangar.

Earthling music is raucous and horrendous from what he’s heard, but having Altean playing through the hangar is far more of a relief than he ever could have expected. It’s been ages since they’d had anything to play, much of it lost when the planet was destroyed and while everything in the castle is _old_ , it’s still familiar.

“Come on, come on, out of the way, you’re too big to just block the entrance like this,” Coran says, flapping his hands at Red when he notices that the lion had prowled over to inspect whatever it was that was suddenly playing sounds. She can actually reach the speaker, but she doesn’t bat at it, thankfully. “I’ll thank you not to damage priceless Altean technology, Red.”

Off to the side, Black comes over, each footstep shockingly quiet for his size, the sound of metal on metal not nearly as loud as one would anticipate for several ton creatures. Black and Red butt heads briefly, affectionate despite their size and make, and then Black stretches out not unlike a giant cat, his paws stretched out in front of him, close enough that he can watch the rest of the lions that are left back from the mission, and Coran while he works.

“There you go, better. Red, don’t even think about coming too close, you’re going to step on something fragile and then Pidge will have my skin,” Coran shakes a finger at both of them, not missing the way that Red’s head tilts, as close to an eyeroll as they can get, her tail lashing back and forth as she settles in next to Black.

His fingers fly over the keyboard once it’s calibrated back from English to Altean, bringing up a multitude of screens on the soft blue holoboard, graphs and charts and everything else. Black keeps watching, even while Red’s eyes go dim as she settles down into rest mode, clearly already bored now that it’s confirmed that nothing exciting is going to happen.

“We used to have a great deal of music and culture on Altea, you know,” Coran says, thumbing over a chart curiously, comparing it to the readings from last week. They’re even, which is good, but there’s enough of a discrepancy at the end that he blows out a breath and starts gathering cords. “The paladins were explaining instruments on Earth - the guitar was one that sounded most similar to dilinath but I have no idea why Earthlings saw fit to ruin perfectly good instruments with their warbling.”

Black’s head settles on his paws and there’s a slight flick of his ears, along with a huge yawn that has _Coran’s_ eyes rolling in response.

“Come on now, don’t close your mouth, you know how this works.” With the cords in one hand, Coran ambles closer and flicks his fingers at Black’s mouth, clambering up inside when it opens obediently. It’s harder to hear the music from in here but he can still hear it faintly enough. Inside, the lights are dim because Black’s conserving power - not quite in rest mode but close enough. He flips open a panel and starts hooking the wires in, matching them to their corresponding holes.  Once it’s finished, he scoots back out and heads over to the screen again, glancing over at the cryo tube a moment. No change, which isn’t surprising, but -- well. He’d hoped.

“We used to have grand concerts - Altea might have been well versed in what it meant to defend itself, of course, but our _culture_. Arts and festivals and musical events during the warm season--” Once all the links are confirmed and the screen beeps at him, Coran thumbs the button for the transfer to start and then settles into the chair, feet kicked up so he can watch. “Alfor used to love it. He and his wife would come to every single event, no matter what time it was, because they wanted to make sure they showed support to everyone. Even if it wasn’t necessarily their preference.”

Slowly, the data starts pouring over the screen and Coran focuses on that for a while, Black sitting quietly, head tilting up just a touch when the song shifts, something brighter, more cheery sliding through the speakers. “Hmm! You like this one?” Coran raises an eyebrow, stretching out to turn it up just a touch. “It’s quite good. Lance spoke about some sort of event that humans hold on Earth where the greatest athletes meet together and compete, Oly, Olyp -- something to that effect.”

A status bar shows on the screen, hovering at fifteen percent and Coran settles in for the long haul. It gets shorter each time, but it’s still a lengthy process.

“We have-- ah, had something similar on Altea. On a much larger scale, of course, given the nearest planets we worked with. Every planet would send over its representatives and they would be divided by talents. Unsurprisingly, the Galra primarily competed in the most brutish events, fighting and the like, but there were a few who prefered the finer arts. In the library, some of the paintings hanging there are from multiple planets, but the Galra had one artist in particular who became _quite_ popular.”

Coran had one of his own, in his room. He had never been much for the fighting aspect of it - had quite enough of that being in the military, thank you, but Kashel had been undeniably talented. Unsurprisingly as things started to shift south near the start of the war, when they started realizing what the Galra were planning and Alfor started trying to plan around it, the events had stopped. The first year that the Games were cancelled; it had been a solid cycle of nothing but reports of troop movements and speculation. It wasn’t a particularly happy time, but they had no idea of what was actually coming.

Black’s head lifts again, his giant muzzle coming close, nosing at Coran to get him to start talking again. The wires shift and catch and Coran tsks quietly under his breath as he rearranges them and makes certain that the percentage hangs where it needs to be and wasn’t disrupted. Thirty-five percent.

“I don’t quite know what happened to her. We were all very aware of the Galra and closer to the start of the war such talents were deemed unnecessary. I’ll have you know I used to be _quite_ the competitor in some of those events.” Black doesn’t respond except to nudge him again in acknowledgement and Coran pats at his nose lightly. “Perhaps when this is all finished, we can start them again. The Paladins would be quite good at competing, I think. There might be a bit of an unfair advantage, what with the guardian aspects but it could be good to start again.”

The computer chimes gently signifying it’s done and the levels are evened out. Coran purses his lips as he double checks everything and then rises up, climbing back into Black to start unhooking the wires, closing the flap up, fastening it shut. When he hops back down, Black climbs back up to his feet and uses a paw to nudge at Red, nearly getting swiped for his trouble. “Now, now, no rough-housing in the hangar, if you please, sensitive pieces of equipment here and I’d rather not have to deal with it being damaged, Red, thank you.”

Black raises a massive paw and gestures to the screens, waiting a moment for Coran to get what he means.

“Ah, yes, thank you, I’ll fix that now.” A few key presses and then it’s switched back into English for when Pidge and Hunk return to work on it, and then Coran gathers everything up into his arms, preparing to head back to the main room of the castle to finish a few things that need done there. “Shall I leave the music on, then?”

It’s not quite a nod but it’s the closest approximation that the lions can manage with their size. Coran leaves to the sound of Altean dilinath and the low, thunderous purr of Black, the doors sliding shut behind him.

* * *

 

VI

Walking into the hangar at night is always unsettling. The cryotube parked in the corner lets off a ghostly glow that they can’t just dim and no one is really willing to throw a blanket over, though they all know it’s disconcerting. It seems wrong, somehow, so they leave it be and Keith’s skin fucking crawls every time he walks past it. The thick knot of cords leading from it to the center of the room is easy enough to step over, but every time he comes in here it feels like another cord is there, another piece of machinery had been added and it was never going to stop.

At what point do they just give up? It’s not in their blood, it’s not in their vocabulary, the words _giving up_ , but doesn’t something have to give eventually? Shiro wouldn’t want this, he thinks.

Hell, Shiro _doesn’t_ want this. He wants them to be successful, wants them to be able to move forward and be a team together and he wants what’s best for them. He wants a thousand things that just aren’t possible the way they are now, and that aren’t going to change any time soon.

“Hey, I’m back,” he says unnecessarily and sidles up to Red so he can stroke a hand over her paw, so she can nose against him gently and press up and in close, welcoming him back. Out of all of them, Keith goes to the hangars the least, but spends the longest amount of time there. It’s partially because he can’t stomach it in a bunch of small doses; each time is just as bad as the last, and if he does it multiple times he knows that he won’t be able to go there as often as he needs to.

Red would open up if he asked her to, but not tonight. He bypasses her and glances over at Black, his lights dimmed but still clearly on, waiting for him. The mouth opens up as soon as he’s close enough to go inside, both of them operating with the same sense of where the other is at all times as they did years ago. He settles into Black’s seat a little tentatively; almost a year and it still feels like he shouldn’t be sitting there, like he doesn’t really deserve it.

It takes time for him to let the walls down that block everything out; at the start, it had been to survive, Zarkon creeping through the lion connection like a poison, sliding insidiously through them until he threatened to possess each and every one of the lions simply because of his connection to Black. It’s hard for him to just let that go - to let go in general, but Black doesn’t feel the same anymore. He’s warmer, easier to let into his head.

Slowly, he slumps down into the pilot’s seat and closes his eyes, lets it wash over him and swallow him up until he opens his eyes and all he can see are the stars. For once, it’s their constellations. The big and little dippers, Orion’s belt. The constellations that he and Shiro had spent months, years looking at, judging, figuring out the best ways to get to and how they were going to do it when they were pilots. It’s both the closest and furthest from home he feels.

“You look tired.” Shiro slides up behind him and winds both arms around his waist, bodyheat warm. He knows that when he looks down he’ll see two human hands, not Shiro’s metal one like he’ll see if he looks in the cryo-tube that they link Black up to once a day. After a beat of hesitation, he leans back, allows Shiro shoulder his weight. “I can feel it.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, because there’s nothing left he can say. He’s exhausted. It’s not something that ever changes, either. He’s always tired because he’s not built to be the leader of the team, not like Shiro was. Is. Too much personal interaction always feels like it’s overwhelming him and with the team as it is now, it _always_ feels like it’s too much. Like he’s too tight in his own skin and like he’ll never escape it. “How are you?”

“Mm.” It’s not an answer but he doesn’t really expect one. He doesn’t need to ask to just know, because all it takes is a moment of pushing through the bond of the lions and tracing the black thread down until he’s submerged, not unlike how he is now. He doesn’t want to do that, though. He wants Shiro to tell him. “Everyone came to visit today. No one was too upset. Hunk made ribs?”

“Yeah.” There’s not much else he can really _say_ , even the short answers feeling like they’re dragged out of him. The view around them shifts, the stars bleeding away until they’re left surrounded by the Garrison. When he turns around in Shiro’s loose grip, he’s not wearing Garrison approved clothing but a simple pair of sweatpants and a loose tank top: black and gray. White socks. He looks like he did whenever he’d crawl out of Keith’s bed or vice versa. “Coran said he ran diagnostics. There was something off in the link, but he says he stabilized it.”

It’s a little terrifying to think about, because the link is the only thing that’s keeping Shiro’s body and mind here. If they don’t keep it stable like they’ve been working to do for almost a year now, then they lose him for good, unless suddenly they find a way to drag his consciousness out of Black.  When he looks down at himself, he’s dressed much the same, simple sweatpants, a red tank top. He could choose what he wanted to be dressed in, of course, but he lets Shiro do this, lets him have some small bit of control where there otherwise wouldn’t be any.

“I’m fine, Keith. We have a dozen safeguards in place and a few percentage points off isn’t going to be the end of the world.” Shiro’s hands slide down Keith’s back instead, over his ass, gripping the backs of his thighs. It’s just as easy for him to lift Keith here as it was back when he was flesh and blood and he doesn’t fight it, lets Shiro tumble him back into the bed and arrange their bodies however he likes. Shiro lies on his back and lets Keith sprawl over him, sliding one leg over his thighs, an arm around the broad spread of his chest. He doesn’t hide his face in Shiro’s shoulder like he so badly wants to, instead opting to rest his cheek there. There’s a few moments where there’s nothing and Keith tenses and then Shiro remembers, his chest rising and falling with breaths he doesn’t have to take, but does for Keith. “The team’s doing well. Lance and Allura going between Red and Blue is working.”

Of course it’s _working_. They’ve put every ounce of research and effort into making sure that it works. Allura’s the one able to switch between all of the lions when necessary. Keith can work both Red and Black, with Lance alternating between Red and Blue when he has to. It’s not a perfect solution but it’s one that works. It’s not ideal. Nothing is.

“Keith,” Shiro says warningly, stroking his right hand up over Keith’s back, sliding under the thin material of his tank top, pressing flat to warm skin. He doesn’t press, which Keith is thankful for.

 _It should be metal,_ he thinks for a moment and hates himself for it. This is the form that Shiro’s most comfortable in and Keith can’t ask him to change it. He won’t ask him to change it.  They lie in silence for a while, if only because Shiro knows that there’s something at the tip of his tongue and he’s unwilling to say it just yet. He has all the patience in the world with this, and Keith has none. It’s why it makes no sense he’s piloting Black.

Time passes and he doesn’t quite doze, but he comes close. He knows that he’s inside the cabin of Black and that if he falls asleep here, it’ll be fine, but he also doesn’t want to risk losing any time with Shiro that he can get, a few percentage points off or not. “I had a chance.” The words are dragged out of him, hoarse. He presses his face into Shiro’s shoulder a moment and holds him all the tighter, guilt eating at him the longer the words sit on his tongue. “I could have killed him. I thought about it-- I’ve _thought about it_ a thousand times and when I could have, I--”

 

 

 

 

 

 

> ( _Zarkon has no right to look this smug right now, but they both know why he does. He hangs limp in Keith’s grip, the trembling of his hand enough to dig the Black bayard into Zarkon’s throat. He bleeds purple and Keith wants to see more of it. Wants to take his time with it, with him, wants to peel the skin off his bones, wants to rip him to fucking shreds._
> 
> _“I know what you want,” Zarkon says and his tone is indulgent, daring to bare his throat so the temptation is there, choking him. “You have me in your hands, Black Paladin, and yet you hesitate.”_
> 
> _There’s no pretending they both don’t know why he’s hesitating. He could do it, he could end it here. There’s no time to take him back as a captive, there’s no way for him to do that but he could slide the bayard across his throat and_ end this _. They have only a precious few minutes before the walls break down and either the other paladins come through or Zarkon’s forces do. They’re both certain that their own men will come through the gates, but more than anything else, he knows that Zarkon is certain Keith doesn’t have the guts to do what needs done._
> 
> _“If you’re going to act, Black Paladin, you should do so soon.” His face splits into the most hideous grin and Keith snarls in response. The bayard doesn’t dig into his throat like he wants it to. Instead, he presses it into Zarkon’s shoulder, activates it and slices his arm off. It’s not clean, it’s not pretty and the resulting blood spray is warm and sour, sickening. It’s partially quintessence, partially blood but what is actually blood is just clotted and thick, wrong. One can’t ingest so much quintessence for so many years without side effects._
> 
> _Instead of the scream he wants to hear, there’s laughter, choked and wet. Keith draws back, switches his grip and drives it into Zarkon’s stomach while he’s at it, twists it just for the hitch of breath and the pained noise that he wants to hear. “We both know I can’t kill you.”_
> 
> Keith, we have twenty seconds and then we gotta move, _Lance’s voice is short of breath but he doesn’t sound injured or scared. Keith smiles in response, teeth bared and stained red with his own blood. It’s not a victory, but he’ll take what he can get._
> 
> _“I can sure as hell make you hurt, though.”_
> 
> _Zarkon laughs through the entirety of it, both in his head and out loud. In the end, Keith relieves him of both legs, slices his stomach open and then cauterizes every single injury. He has no doubts that the Druids will be able to fix it with magic, but it’s something._ )

 

Once the memory starts, there’s no stopping it unless he shuts down the connection entirely, but he doesn’t want to do that, either. He sits through it all over again, allows Shiro to watch it and gropes for the covers to bundle them up under them as if they’ll protect both of them from what happened. It was a little over a week ago but it still felt fresh, felt like it was yesterday.

“Fucking _say something,_ ” Keith snarls after a moment, digging his hand into the material of Shiro’s shirt, blunt nails scratching at his skin. It won’t actually hurt him but Keith hates that he does it all the same, acting on instinct not reason like he’s been told to a thousand times over. “Yell at me, chastise me, tell me I’m too old to make such dumbass decisions, do _something_. Don’t just lie there.”

“Keith.” God, he hates it when Shiro’s voice goes soft and warm like that, like he understands what Keith’s going through. He does, to a point, but not enough. He doesn’t have any idea what it’s like because he was always born to be the leader, born to be Black’s paladin, born to push through everything. “Look at me.”

It’s a request; he doesn’t have to follow it but he’s never been good at ignoring Shiro’s orders. He forces himself up and pulls away from the warmth of Shiro’s body and the protection of the blankets, presses a hand flat to his chest to force him there. “ _What_?” he snarls out and shoves for good measure, just in case he gets any ideas about moving up or trying to cuddle him.

He doesn’t. Of course he knows better. Instead, he waits until the pressure lessens and then he tugs Keith’s hand up and presse a kiss to his palm, and then another to each one of his fingers. It’s an echo of all the times they’d done that before - never in the Garrison, but a hundred times in bed, on the castle.

( _If you start reciting this little piggy, you can sleep in your own bed, Keith says and Shiro’s laughter fills the whole room._ )

“I know you don’t want to hear this but I have to say it. My life isn’t worth the universe. There are other paladins out there. We haven’t found them yet because the need wasn’t there, but if you kill Zarkon--”

 _“If I kill him,”_ Keith spits, and jerks his hand back before Shiro can finish the too-sweet kisses. “Then I lose you, too. Then we _all_ do. You don’t know if you can fight him! The paladin that dies overwrites the last, and sure, there are other paladins in the lions that could help fight but you’ve _seen_  the others! They’re still relearning how to fucking talk. I haven’t seen any of the other Black paladins in here, which means there _isn't_  one. So you’d fight him alone.”

Zarkon controlling the Black lion is terrifying enough all on its own. He couldn’t do any real damage, they have failsafes in place for that, but they’d be down the black paladin and they wouldn’t have any way to recover as easily as they would need to, especially with the state of the Empire in flux. The power vacuum that it would leave could make things even worse if they weren’t prepared.

“You are prepared,” Shiro points out, even as ever, reading him even without the mental link between paladin and lion. “That’s what the Alliance was for. You have the planets, the support, the ability to overthrow the Empire as long as Zarkon’s dead and you have Haggar and the other Druids contained.”

This wouldn’t be so awful, Keith thinks, if Shiro weren’t somewhat right. He’d known that he should have ended it there, when he had the chance. It’d felt -- maybe not good, but something damn close, what he’d done to Zarkon. He should have killed him, though.

“And there is another Black Paladin, Keith.” Shiro’s voice is even more gentle and Keith hates it, hates him for doing this to him. “All of the AI come from something. There was one when I was piloting- something, someone in the lion.”

Keith throws an accusing look at their surroundings, as if that mysterious black paladin is there with them, but Shiro only laughs and smooths a hand through his hair, starts stroking his back in slow, broad sweeps like he used to when they were back crammed in too-small castle beds. He has a thousand questions he wants to ask about them - why they don’t show up, why they haven’t done something to help Shiro, but he knows that it’s not going to get answered. “If you’re talking to them, maybe let them know they’re not doing much _good_  right now,” he spits, hoping they can hear him, that they’re aware of what he’s saying. The lions protect the paladins and vice versa. Where the hell was Black when they’d lost Shiro?

“Hey, hey, easy.” The connection between them burns red hot and only starts to soothe when Shiro cups his face and keeps touching him, warm and soft and steady, settling it to a low simmer of rage instead of a roar. “Keith, promise me if you have the chance next time, you’ll take it. The universe isn’t worth this.”

 _The universe isn’t worth this,_  he says, and Keith knows what he means. _The universe is worth more than I am._

He’s not _wrong_  is the worst part. Once upon a time Keith had been able to make the callous calls that he thought needed to be made. It was one of the reasons why he wasn’t ready to pilot Black, or lead the team when they first started. With time brought maturity, but that didn’t mean that this was any easier.

“I don’t even know if we’re going to get another chance.” Keith gingerly settles back in, tries to push the tension out of his body by forcibly relaxing himself and puts his head back on Shiro’s chest. After a moment, he can hear the steady thud of his heart.

“Just try.” Shiro curls a hand at the base of his head, winds it through his hair and starts massaging at his neck, terribly gentle. He’s fallen asleep to this a dozen, a hundred times and this time threatens to be no different. There’s no further they can argue right now so Keith lets it go for the time being, ready to revisit this at another time. Right now, it’s been a solid week since he’s gotten real rest and he _knows_  that Shiro’s sliding into his head and doing everything he can do to relax him, but he can’t find it in himself to be angry about it for once. “I’ll wake you up for training in the morning.”

He’s already mostly asleep when the words register and he manages a grunt in response, patting Shiro’s chest. “Start some coffee if you get up before me,” he slurs tiredly, and curls his fingers loosely over his chest, letting himself doze.

“Yeah, will do,” Shiro promises quietly, smoothing his hair back from his face, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He can’t, of course, but he can contact Blue and Red since Lance is still awake, and ask him to bring a cup in the morning when they finally wake up. The lions don’t truly sleep, which is the hardest thing to get used to. They go into low-power or recharge mode, sure, but he’s always distantly aware of everything going on, to a point. Slowly, Black’s eyes dim and the pilot’s seat starts to recline, shifting back until it’s as flat as it will go and Keith can stretch out on it.

The connection between the rest of the lions twinges a bit, after a few moments; Shiro turns on his sensors enough to figure out what’s going on and realizes it’s Lance, tugged in by his connection to the other two lions. It’s a slow process to open up the cabin quietly enough that he doesn’t disturb Keith but he manages it. How much of that is due to how quiet and slow it was or just due to how exhausted Keith is, he doesn’t know.

 _Red said Keith came up here for the night_ , Lance says as he walks up the on-ramp and hefts a blanket in his arms. They don’t usually opt to speak through the mental link, but with Keith asleep, Shiro’s grateful for it. Where the other lions are still struggling to communicate in something outside of impulses and thoughts and pictures, it’s easier for him to do it, still new enough he hasn’t forgotten what it’s like to _talk_.

 _Thanks._  Shiro says, for lack of anything else to say right now. He’s not about to tell the others about what Keith did; that’s his business and God knows he kept his own secrets, back when he led the team, but it makes his stomach twist uncomfortably to think about it all the same.

Lance settles the giant, thick throw over the line of Keith’s body stretched out in the pilot’s chair and pulls it up to his chin. Maybe he really is just that exhausted, because the most he does is breathe out and curl onto his side, fingers catching and holding in it. Shiro also doesn’t call him out on how long he lingers, just looking at Keith’s sleeping form. Whatever this thing is that’s formed since Shiro’s been gone doesn’t really have a name, but Shiro’s grateful for it. It isn’t as if he had the hands to touch either of them any longer, and much as Keith might hate to admit it, physical contact  _helps._

 _You should rest, too_ , Shiro points out after a moment of Lance quietly watching Keith’s chest rise and fall.

He doesn’t have eyes to see the way Lance’s expression shifts, a wry smile tugging at his lips, but his sensors give him enough information to work with. The way Lance’s weight shifts, hip cocking. The feeling that pushes through the connection, stronger now that they’re so close. _I will in a bit. Wanted to make sure this idiot was taken care of, first. He still having your nightmares? He didn’t the last few nights he crashed with the rest of us, but--_

 _He’s still having them. It seems like it’s less frequent, but I don’t know. He’s getting better at shutting me out when he doesn’t want me to know._ Silence falls for a few moments and then Lance turns, presses a hand to Shiro’s command console. _Alright. We’ll be here in the morning. Hunk’s making us pancakes and purple space bacon. I’ll have some coffee for Keith when he wakes up._

He doesn’t need words for everything, especially with Lance. He’d taken to the emotional connection to the lions and other paladins the easiest, because he was the one who _felt_  everything so strongly. It’s a simple thing to press back all the affection and thankfulness he feels back down along the link, and Lance pats at his console just once. If he swipes at his cheeks when it’s done, well, Shiro can pretend for both of their sake’s that he doesn’t notice the wetness there.

The connection fades once Lance heads back, blending with his ties to Yellow and Green. One final sweep of the castle, a check on its security systems and an inventory of where everyone is in it and Shiro lets himself power down once more, the steady in and out of Keith’s breath oddly soothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not actually sorry

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/SarahKFetter)about voltrons and cats. thanks to brig for betaing and listening to me yell about this for two months before i finally decided to write it
> 
> ALSO AHH, I commished my friend Linds back at Edmonton Expo and HOLY SHIT look at what she did for this fic!! [HERE](http://chaoslindsay.tumblr.com/post/152774277939/a-commission-for-chiidoesshit-for-her-fic-if) is the link.


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